You remember being six. You sat at your mother's knee. She read you stories. Her fingers used to comb through your hair. She smelled of lilacs, the way they bloomed outside your window, bringing the sweetness of spring. If you were good, and you were - you were so good, she would let you try her perfume. She dabbed some on your wrists, your neck, your nose - to make you sneeze. Her touch was light and soft, like the silk of her gowns, clinging to her curves yet exposing every knob of her spine. You were six and she was tall. She rose above the crowd, her skirts billowing behind her like a conqueror's cape. You were six and she was your hero. You wanted to grow up to be just like her. You were six and she was alive.
You're not six anymore. And she isn't alive.
You've dreamt of this day since. It kept you going through the sunrises of sweat and aching flesh. Collapsing on the training grounds, grinding your bones against the dust and dirt, you have trained for this day. For this hour, for this very moment, was all you had ever since you were six and she was dripping, dripping, dripping all over the floor. You lived for this day.
The cottage was small and unassuming. It was cleverly hidden amongst the trees, only seen if a person knew where to look. At its front, there was a garden, small and humble, with lilacs growing under the window. You aim your crossbow.
The witch appears. She looks as she had that night. She hasn't aged a day. Your finger is on the trigger.
"Mommy!"
Annie comes running in. Her laughter rings through the quiet woods. She wraps skinny arms around the witch's legs, looking up and up at her. Annie looks at the witch as if she was tall, the tallest person in the world. As if no one could bring her down. She was a giant, invincible and invulnerable. The cord is screwed tight. You stand in the shadows, perfectly still.
The witch kneels down to Annie's height. Her fingers comb through the short, red hair. You hold your breath. She rises to her feet. You tighten your grip. Annie smiles because all is right in her world.
They walk away, mother and daughter, hand in hand. Their happy chatter grows softer as they leave your sight
A beat.
You close your eyes and lower your weapon.
You were six once upon a time.